Against Darkness, So Light May Be
by Melaro16
Summary: A young man, trained in the art of war by a warrior of a bygone era, where men fought not the beasts of Remnant, but for ideals and banner; and when humanity was its own worst enemy. Ryan Cross moves to become something beyond Hunters, to uphold a creed he believes, and a cause he holds above all. He is a Soldier of Ash, and he will suffer darkness, so others may live in the light.
1. Exposition

**Disclaimer: All characters, locations, objects, etc. (Including any variations, combinations, or other such modifications) relating to the RWBY intellectual property belong solely to the creator, Monty Oum, and to Rooster Teeth Productions. All similarities regarding real-world individuals, locations, companies, products, nationalities, intellectual or copyright properties, etc. are either entirely coincidental/referential in nature, and are exclusively neutral in promotion. Any original content of my own creation, such as characters, names, designs, created lore and administrations not specifically linked to the RWBY IP, etc. are entirely free of any and all personal ownership, and can be used without restriction by anyone for any form of media. However, as what I believe to be a form of authorial and/or artistic etiquette, I would like to be informed of any use of my ideas from a purely curious and well-meaning standpoint on my behalf.**

_There is a saying that has been uttered by a few notable men, those haughty few who have felt only those trivial spasms of conflict._

"_History is written by the victor." _

_It certainly is a powerful remark, one that truly clasps the grand intricacy that is the chronicled past. And yet so often does it seem to favor reciting its self-given, awe-inspiring glory. _

…_To forgo the unpleasant reality._

_From the sprawling forests of Vale and the ocean cliffs of Mistral, to the towering cities of Atlas and the arid badlands of Vacuo, the story of humanity's rise from the earth has been told in vaunted undertones and bravado-laced glory for centuries, of how man stepped forth to challenge the Grimm, the very forces of death and destruction themselves. And triumphed. _

_Oh, how we triumphed._

_And yet, there is another story that remains untold. An era that history has learned to forget, where no victors or heroes rose to claim their place in the annals of antiquity. _

_The story of a war so violent and earth shattering that it nearly sent the young human race back to its earthen origins._

_From vested dust to charred ash._

_It is in the midst of this chaotic age, this shadow war, that our story takes root; not as an epic filled with the exploits of champions and glory, but a tormenting tale of sacrifice and loss, devastation and ruin…survivors and soldiers._

_Above all, this is the legend of a group of remarkable men, formed from the fires of war, bonded over the greatest of causes, and guided by an unwavering resolve to match the darkness of the world…and win._

_..._

It began with an act of equal parts determination, ingenuity, and desperation.

Centuries ago, humanity faced a merciless, powerful enemy-an enemy that would only be satisfied with our complete, utter extinction…The Grimm.

Born from the darkest nightmares' of Remnant, the Grimm swept across the land like a roaring black wave, butchering every village and settlement that fell under their bloody gaze. Faced with this onslaught, humanity banded together in hopes of presenting a unified front, one capable of stemming the tide of destruction. Battles raged across Remnant as regional communes formed provisional militias, centered on the best-defensible strongholds humanity could muster within such a short time.

But it was not enough. Mile by mile, man by man, the Grimm chipped away at us with a level of ferocity and inhuman savagery that we could never hope to match. Darkness was closing in, and humanity was running out of torches.

And then, they found it. The spark of light that would send the Grimm back to the sinister hell from which they came.

…and nearly set the entire world ablaze with ethereal flame.

On the southern slope of Vytal, dug into the shadows of the Krallen mountain range, humanity had constructed one of its most powerful strongholds, a proverbial line in the sand from which they would no longer give ground to the Grimm. By pushing their backs against the wall, the Militia of Krallen had chosen the conviction of death over the fear of the hunted.

It was beneath this fortress, the _Damnatio Arx_, that humanity discovered it's most powerful weapon, deep within the mountainside-in a cavern lit by an elemental inferno.

Blinding fires and swirling ice flurries surged through the air with surreal grace as eruptions of lightning and wind coursed across a floor of solid onyx, illuminating the room with a hellish cacophony of light and sound. And at the center of the cavern, a throng of crystals composed of the most vibrant hues, all crackling with untamed, primal power.

The first men to lay eyes on it actually believed they'd found the core of the planet, the "Heart of Remnant" that kept the whole ball of dirt spinning like it was supposed to. In a cryptically world-ending way, they weren't exactly wrong.

No one knew just what this new crystal was capable of, but humanity was in no position to question its fortunes.

So with hope that could only accompany the most fervent of desperation, the men of the Krallen Militia manned the walls of the _Damnatio Arx_, ready to face extinction with worn steel…and what seemed to be colorful rocks.

After all, time was up.

A monstrous wave of howling darkness descended upon the fortress in triumph, the end of humanity's brief existence seemingly drawing near. Victory for the Grimm was all but assured.

…what followed was something that many considered a display of wrath only known to gods.

A brief, blinding light burst forth from those stone walls with a brightness to rival a solar flare, casting the entire valley in a hellish backdrop of silvery light. Behind that light shattered forth a fury of energy that tore the very ground asunder in its unrelenting advance.

Entire hordes of Grimm vanished in the blink of an eye-vaporized by darting bolts of lightning, incinerated by fiery maelstroms, and frozen beneath wintery tundra. The soldiers of the walls stood awed at the power they had unleashed-an explosive torrent that had left the valley a mass of burnt craters, lined with veins of ice and scorched flesh.

From this battle, humanity earned not only its right to existence, but to a power of ultimate creation and decimation: Dust.

Hope alive, all night celebration, ale all around, quickies with tavern wenches, all that "beat the apocalypse" jazz.

By all accounts, it could have ended right there. Humanity could of risen above itself, could have learned from its brush with annihilation and looked to promote a future of peace and understanding that would create a unified world beyond our wildest dreams.

Could, could, could, all the "coulds" in the world and a shit load of optimism don't have the clout to write history, as much as we'd like to think so.

Because there is one thing that we have learned about power in our brief time on this planet, a memorandum humanity will never forget…

…power shall corrupt even the most honest of souls.

...

_Dust changed everything. It changed us, made us stronger…and weakened our morals. We had replaced one monster with another. One that is far more dangerous than any Grimm could hope to be…something far darker._

_Humanity was free, that was certain. But free to do what, that was the question. _

_Some chose to defend this hard-won freedom. Others, the pursuit of knowledge._

_And a remote few…chose to bend the world to their will._

_To take what they believed was rightfully theirs._

_To accept the darkness…_

_These are the ones we fight._

_Power begets Darkness, Light begets Life…_

…_and Fire begets Ash._

_We are the Soldiers of Ash._

_We shall not fear the Darkness._

_The Darkness shall fear us._

_..._

**A/N: Hey. Nice to see you got this far.**

**Wow, I gotta' admit, this took so much longer than I expected to finally get this damn thing on the site. Not the site's fault, mind you, just my own lack of timing.**

**This idea has been rattling around in my head for over a year now, and I'm happy that I finally got it out here for you guys and gals to look at.**

**...in all honesty, I'm a little nervous. This is my first story I've ever published online, and I've bashed this thing with every literary brick I could find for the last nine months in hopes of turning it into something cool enough for you people to enjoy.**

**That being said, I'm happy with how its turned out. **

**I plan on writing at my own pace, slow as that is, because it gives me time to make this story great, which is my only goal when it comes to making it.**

**It is in that vein of thought that compels me to ask you, the reader, for a VERY important service. This story relies heavily on not only the canon of RWBY and my own interpretations of it, but also on the thoughts and ideas of the fandom that it is a part of. I NEED to hear what you think about not just the story, but how I write it. If you think there's something I'm missing, something I'm omitting, or especially if I'm not writing this to the standard that you, the reader, hold it to, I want to know so I can fix it. Any and all input is not just accepted, it is DEMANDED.**

**I hope you enjoyed the beginning of my little trip into RWBY.**

**Because I gotta' tell ya'...I plan on having some real fun with this story.**

**And I hope you do to.**


	2. Prologue: Night Falls

**Disclaimer: All characters, locations, objects, etc. (Including any variations, combinations, or other such modifications) relating to the RWBY intellectual property belongs solely to Rooster Teeth Productions. All similarities regarding real-world individuals, locations, companies, products, nationalities, intellectual or copyright properties, etc. are either entirely coincidental/referential in nature, and are exclusively neutral in promotion. Any original content of my own creation, such as characters, names, designs, created lore, and administrations not specifically linked to the RWBY IP, etc. are entirely free of any and all personal ownership, and can be used without restriction by anyone for any form of media. However, as what I believe to be a form of authorial and/or artistic etiquette, I would like to be informed of any use of my ideas from a purely curious and well-meaning standpoint on my behalf.**

**Prologue**

_Night Falls_

"_It is a comforting, yet false conception, that the evil we face _

_lies only with those standing before us with whetted blade._

_For behind these guileless men looms a far greater peril._

_A black abyss that lays bare to the darkness in all men's hearts._

_It is there, that monsters are truly bred."_

_Marius Fraxinus, First Order of The Soldiers of Ash, 358 B.R.E  
_

* * *

**December 17**

**Solitude, Agea Region, Mantle**

The storm front came in from the southeast, a stretching expanse of black clouds that erased the last vestiges of light from the broken moon. Rolling notes of thunder echoed across the tall pines as sheets of rain drummed the ground in a constant, low roar. Streaks of lightning lit the valley irregularly, outlining the military compound and thickly wooded hills surrounding it in brief moments of stark clarity.

Captain Ansel Lécuyer lay prone on a timbered ridge west of the arsenal, covered in a camouflaged tarp that did little to keep away the biting cold of the late winter's chill. He activated his helmet's night-vision with deliberate care, ensuring he did not make any unnecessarily visible movements. He doubted anyone could see him from the base, or were even looking his way; but fieldwork taught patience above all else. The landscape blinked into transparency with a spectral green tint, giving him an unobstructed view of his objective.

Fort Ares Arsenal, one of dozens of similar arms depots surrounding the capital city of Atlas, stretched across a large clearing deep within the Gigantes Mountains. Dozens of Drakon MBTs, Cerberus LAVs, and four-wheeled Leaper Transports occupied the entire east end of the facility, dark metal hulks lined in precisely ordered rows. The west side of the facility, closer to Ansel, was dotted with square, aluminum-sided buildings─ squat administration huts, elongated barracks, an onsite armory, and a smattering of other utility structures arranged around the center building. The center, however, held the most dominating feature of the compound: The 73rd Atlesian Immediate Rearmament Complex (IRC), an immense steel and concrete storage warehouse housing enough hardware to equip a reinforced brigade for two weeks of continued operations.

Ansel turned his head slightly, eyes sweeping across the motor pool and barracks until he found what he was looking for: the main access road leading to the front gate. He found it at the southern end of the arsenal, and what he saw improved his mood tremendously.

The single mountain road leading to Fort Ares had long since been reduced to a slog of thick, corpulent mud that made it impossible for any vehicle short of a spider walker to traverse. Heavy rainfall and wind ensured that visibility was only a few meters at best, and any attempts to reach the installation by air would be considered too risky for standard aircraft. The time needed to find severe-weather airships would take more than a few hours.

Ansel smiled beneath his helmet. The intelligence and weather reports had proven to be unnaturally spot-on. In fact, he hardly thought he could have picked a better night for this operation. With a large portion of the regular staff on leave to celebrate the New Remnant Year, only a skeleton crew of technicians and security personal were currently on base.

This weather just made his job that much easier.

Satisfied with what he had seen, Ansel crawled backward into the protection of the surrounding pines before standing to his full height. He thumbed the transmit link on the side of his helmet once. Two muted clicks answered through his earpiece after a few moments.

The soft rustle of parting leaves drew his attention to the back of the glade, and Ansel watched silently as a large shadow stepped through the dense verdure and into view.

The man was towering, a head-and-a-half taller than the captain, and seemingly built of solid stone, the bulging cords of muscle easily visible through the under-armor of his suit. His armor was matte-black, the same as Ansel's, and constructed of thick, rounded plates of layered steel composite. A smooth, fused metal helmet covered his head entirely, the thin slit of his visor glowing a menacing, dull red.

The newcomer strode across the forest floor with a silent fluidity that seemed unnatural to a man of his stature; the soft scrape of heavy boots on fallen pine needles the only noise accompanying him.

Ansel finished folding the camouflage tarp, and slid it into the small pack on his back before acknowledging the newcomer. "Is everything ready, Géant?"

Sergeant Géant nodded.

"Everyone is in position," he rumbled, "and the next patrol should reach the fence in fifteen minutes."

His thick, guttural accent gave Ansel the impression of a shifting mountain, the low growl characteristic of the natives of northeastern Atlas.

Ansel turned back towards Fort Ares, his gaze combing over the darkened central monolith once more.

"_How often the world hangs on the will of soft-hided fools,_" He thought._ "They rant of cooperation and free spirit without seeing the cost their precious 'peace' brings with it."_

He looked back to Géant, a cruel smile playing across a normally haughty face.

"Excellent. Time to move, then."

Though he could not see Géant's face beyond the dark visage of his helm, he could sense the man's thrilled grin.

"Yes, _Captáne_."

Two thick trees stood near the edge of the grove, a few feet from a sheer eight hundred foot drop off the ridge to the shrouded valley below. The valley sloped downward from the base of the cliff, a thick canopy of evergreens and undergrowth leading to and ending a distance from the perimeter fencing. Ansel took a moment to stare over the edge, analyzing the distance, and the crazed wind raging around the top of the ridge in a wild flurry. This was going to be a little tricky, but Ansel was confident.

Both men turned to face the two pines, extending their arms outward to point at the trees. The plating along Ansel's forearm separated with a quiet _whir_, and a small barb, attached to a length of thin metal wire, shot forward to embed itself in the trunk of the left pine with a dull _thunk._ Ansel glanced at Géant, who was pulling on his own line to test its hold, before nodding in affirmation.

"On my mark," Ansel stated.

Ansel crouched low, sucking in a deep breath.

"3…2…1…_Mark._"

He took two quick steps, and launched himself into space.

Ansel's stomach flipped crazily as he plummeted like a rocket, the jagged stone of the cliff flashing past scant feet from his visor. Rain slashed across his visor as the altimeter displayed on his HUD ticked downward, his gauntlet unreeling a steady stream of wire behind him. He caught a glimpse of Géant falling next to him, the man keeping his body parallel with the cliff as he plunged like a rock. The altimeter let out a shrill beep as it hit three hundred feet.

Now came the hard part.

Nanotechnology had become an expanding field in the last few decades, bringing a plethora of potential applications to many different industries. Such as attaching millions of adhesive microfibers to a given object, and then polarizing it, the object could then stick to nearly any surface. Including the soles of armored boots.

Using the line as a fulcrum, Ansel twisted his body midair and rammed his boots into the side of the cliff, turning the microfibers of his soles to half power. Loose gravel and grit shot from underneath his boots like sparks as he slid along the rock, the valley floor racing towards him. His momentum, though blunted by the adhesive force, continued to carry him down the windswept stone, and he immediately activated the brake system on his wire launcher, slowing his descent further and ensuring he kept his footing without snapping his ankles.

His HUD continued swinging downward, counting off the distance as he focused on keeping himself perpendicular.

"_60…50…40…30…now."_

The guide wire released with a sharp _twang_.

Ansel tensed his legs and shoved off the cliff wall, flipping end-over-end before slamming boot first into the overgrown valley floor at nearly forty miles-an-hour. The joints of his legs groaned as they absorbed the brunt of the impact, and Ansel rolled, letting the momentum of the fall spread across his body evenly to reduce the chances of injury.

Finishing his roll smoothly, Ansel transitioned directly into a half crouch, his Hamor heavy pistol in his hand and ready to fire. He moved the pistol back and forth across the small clearing, scanning for any sign of a random patrol. He waited, straining his hearing for the any wayward sound.

A minute passed, then another. Ansel glimpsed Géant out of the corner of his eye, mimicking his movements with his own weapon. The only thing to greet them was the constant thrum of pouring rain, and the sound of branches whipping amongst the wind.

They were alone.

Ansel rose to his feet and muttered, "Clear."

He quickly slid his pistol back into its leg mount and collected the guide wire. He planted the end of the wire into a small crag along the base of the cliff. They would need those lines to return to the evac zone at the top.

He motioned to Géant, who was also anchoring his line. "Time?"

Géant paused, checking the timer in the corner of his HUD.

"Twelve minutes."

Ansel nodded, turning away from the cliff side. They had to move quickly if they wanted to catch the end of the perimeter rotation. "Move."

Both men began to run, exiting the clearing and moving between the great pine trees towards the Arsenal at a quick sprint.

Ansel, of slighter height and with a wiry frame, weaved through the forest like a circus tumbler, hurdling over scattered underbrush and bouncing around trees with measured precision. He could hear Géant, carrying an extra thirty pounds of hard muscle, as he crashed through the foliage behind him to keep pace.

Ansel grinned savagely to himself as he vaulted head-first over a fallen tree trunk, catching himself in a handstand and flipping back onto his feet, all without breaking stride. To move quickly and fluently served a useful need, especially in combat.

Nine minutes passed at a hard trot before Ansel caught sight of the edge of the forest, and quickly stooped into the knee-high underbrush, signaling Géant to do the same. They were growing nearer to the Arsenal perimeter, and Ansel felt the familiar stirrings of stony grit seeping into his stomach. He stared hard into the gloom, eyes searching through the fleeting strikes of lightning for the faint signs of potential danger, the muffled rustle of a disturbed branch or the slight distortion of machine-stitched camouflage.

Still nothing. The closer they came to the Arsenal perimeter, the more likely they could be spotted. Ansel was not overtly worried, however. They had planned well, as befit his group's reputation. And if there were some unforeseen issue…they would remove it.

He forced those thoughts to the back of his mind, pushing himself to stay on task. Such thoughts only served to blind him, and were best left untouched.

Ansel clicked his transmitter once, paused, and clicked it once more. The return signal came a moment later, three soft tones at half-second intervals. The two men he had placed on the cliff were reporting that the fence patrol was just finishing its loop of their side of the complex

The next patrol wouldn't circulate back for another forty-five minutes. Switching the receiver on the side of his helmet off, Ansel felt another twinge of satisfaction. The window was wide open. Perfect.

Rising slowly to their feet, Ansel and Géant both crept through the low-grown brush towards the final line of pines, moving with smooth, sure steps.

Ansel reached the most outward pine and pressed against it, the moist coolness of the bark creeping through the skin of his under armor. Géant sidled up to another tree to Ansel's right, his blackened armor fading into the moss-covered trunk like a wraith.

Ansel pushed his head around the side of his tree, peering into the open, though it did him little good. The downpour appeared almost like a flowing wall, causing the terrain leading to the perimeter fencing to seemingly disappear all together, the fence itself fading and reappearing among the thundering arcs of lightning.

Ansel could have passed his hand across his face and not seen it at all in this forsaken squall.

But this did not concern him, considering he was adequately prepared.

He skimmed two fingers across the front of his visor, activating the sensors in his helmet to switch from standard to EMF wavelength detection. The wall of rain slowly blurred and faded as the world took on a reddish white hue, the visor shrouding the minute radiation of small electronic devices in a dusky purple haze.

A lone motion-activated camera sat atop one of the fence posts like a small bird, its fish-eye lens glowing faintly in its black housing. Ansel swept his visor along the entire fence, but no new devices glowed into detail.

The intelligence report given to him had gone into extensive detail of the security measures of the Arsenal, including the specs on all of the outer fencing and their accompanying security points. Ansel had spent much time studying the Arsenal's visual security system, even going as far to acquire an identical model of the instillation's preferred camera to dissect and analyze in its entirety.

Unlike people, machines were somewhat easier to fool, and the camera was no exception. While they were newer models, the military had neglected to account for Solitude's characteristic rainfall, which made the integrated tracking and identification software unable to quickly differentiate between the torrential rainfall and uneven surfaces.

Therefore, any irregular shapes that entered the camera's sightline _briefly_ would be registered by the camera's recognition software as random background clutter, caused by the turbulent weather. If he and Géant moved fast enough, they would look like nothing more then faint echoes moving against a grey backdrop.

"_In theory…"_ Ansel thought tersely.

Ansel pulled the strap of his tac-pack tighter across his chest, and adjusted the holster on his thigh with a quick tug. Simplicity in planning was something he approved of wholeheartedly, but the line between ingenuous and foolish had proven itself to be remarkably fragile. Actions should be thorough; they should be precise, _controlled_.

The crackling roar of thunder gave voice to his thoughts, winding iridescent streaks across the dense black sky. Ansel ground his feet deeper into the sodden earth, muscles tensed like steel wire.

Ansel glanced back to Géant, the other man watching him mutely.

The captain raised his fist, and nodded. Géant acknowledged him with a jerk of his chin, ready to move.

Ansel ducked low and whirled around the tree in the same fluid motion, gouging two deep furrows into the earth as he bolted towards the fence-line.

The wind howled and clawed at Ansel like a demented wolf, the first gust almost sending him sprawling before he corrected himself mid-stride. The rain was falling almost parallel to the ground, icy shards pelting at his armor as the blinding tempest screeched around him. The air thrummed with every crack of thunder, Ansel's eyes blurring dizzyingly with each lightning strike.

He ignored it all. His thoughts were barren, his mind focused only on moving as fast as his legs would carry him, the impact of his foot on the sodden ground resounding in his ears like the boom of cannon.

Ansel dove forward, sailing over the last ten feet of the perimeter yard and hit the ground on his left shoulder. His momentum carried him sideways, down into the drainage ditch along the base of the fence.

The water was three feet deep, and cold enough to knock the wind from Ansel's strained lungs as he landed face down into the freezing runoff. The water bit through the open spaces of his armor like liquid fire, his skin screaming at the abuse. He gritted his teeth to keep from gasping in shock, and angrily flicked the rainwater from his visor with his fingers.

Ansel had a special place of hatred in his heart for the cold, cold water more so, acquired during his previous years of service in the Faunus Uprising. "_The blades bleed you, the bullets rend you, but the cold…that breaks you_."

He felt more than heard Géant land beside him, his massive comrade hitting the water with a deep _ker-splash! _The giant jerked his head out from the torrent, and Ansel put his hand on the man's shoulder to steady him, a finger up in a gesture of silence.

No klaxon. No barking dogs. No roving spotlights. Just freezing rain and thunder.

Ansel lowered his hand as the tension in his muscles ebbed, his slow sigh burning through the remnants of adrenaline in his system. He turned his head to look sideways at his sergeant.

"Slowing down in your old age, Géant?" Ansel remarked, amused. The sergeant out-aged his superior by almost eight years, but could still break a man with his bare hands; a feat he was quick to remind others of when the need arose.

The big man gave Ansel a half-shrug. "Didn't want to land on you. You would not happen to know what they do to subordinates that crush their superiors by accident, do you?"

Ansel snorted, rising to his knees. "No, but I guarantee you'd be the first. Hard part's behind us; let's finish this and get out of this damned weather." The other man grunted in agreement.

The fence was woven one-eighth inch steel, twelve feet high and topped with spiraling strands of concertina wire that stretched around the entire facility. The sheer amount of rainfall made it a hazard to electrify, but given that the Arsenal's main defense was its remoteness, the military hadn't concerned itself too much over the matter.

Géant reached onto his back and pulled a small, thick knife with a plastic sheath from his tac-pack. He pulled the cover off the blade, and flicked the switch at the base of the hilt.

The blade's edge pulsed a faint red, and Ansel smelled the faint tinge of burning ozone. Géant chose a link a half-foot above his head, and pressed the knife to it. The steel broke with a soft _twang_, snapping with the ease of sodden string.

He cut downwards with deft flicks of the thermal cutter, creating a long tear in the fence segment. Géant deactivated the cutter and slid it back into its sheath, and both men grasped an edge of the tear and yanked. The metal separated with a soft, grating _clink_.

Ansel slid through quickly, with Géant right behind him. Once through, Géant turned back and wrestled the fence back into place, lining the broken strands together so that the links would appear untouched unless inspected closely.

Another thirty yards separated the first line of structures from them and the fence. A pressed gravel roar, lined with lampposts at regular intervals, ran along the Arsenal perimeter. The road was bare in both directions, and both men darted across to the shelter of a squat, concrete shed.

The path Ansel and Géant followed to the central warehouse wound through the main utility section; hardened generators crisscrossed with electrical lines leading to the center of the facility. It took longer then either man would have preferred, but it gave a wider berth to the barracks and administration center. Within thirteen minutes, they had reached the eastern side of the IRC.

The Ares' Arsenal IRC was even more impressive up close, the massive concrete walls, covered with blast resistant plasteel composite, towered forty feet above Ansel's head. A single steel door sat recessed into the concrete, a heavy padlock streaked with rust hanging loosely from a bracket by the handle.

Ansel felt a sense of obscene amusement at that. The most powerful military force on the planet, creators of such places as the Hadean Cage and the Crypt of the Fated…and they used a simple padlock to protect military hardware.

Twelve seconds with Ansel's lock picks was all it took, and both men were inside, the door sliding shut behind them with the squeak of old hinges.

The smell hit Ansel first, an acrid mixture of machine oil and stale air that crept through the openings of his helmet like a noxious fog. Dim overhead bulbs cast paltry motes of ruddy light along the molted concrete floor, and all around them stood massive units of industrial shelving. Wooden crates full of rifles, drums of fuel, tarp covered electronics, bags of quick-crete, anything and everything needed to field a sizable number of troops anywhere on the planet within a week.

Ansel motioned to Géant, who moved with him towards the center of the building, past the tightly packed stacks of weapons and tools. They were not interested in aged equipment intended for backwater reservists. They were after something much more _exotic_.

The center of the IRC had been cleared and turned into an enclosed pavilion, cordoned off from the rest of the floor by a high, opaque tarp, much like the ones used by hospitals to separate infectious patients. The fade of muted white light shown from within, and markings and signs hung from the supports, wrought in large lettering, stating _**Restricted: Authorized Personnel Only Beyond This Point**__._ A simple square flap marked the entrance.

Ansel again scanned the dimly lit shelves around him, making sure the area was clear of anything that might signal surveillance. The information had said nothing about the objective's housing section, but they had assured him that it was not part of the regular guard rotation. _Need to know basis, and none of the guards needed to know_.

Ansel slid his hand through the slit along the side of the entrance and peeled it away, the scrape of separating Velcro filling the silence like a rotary saw.

Géant slipped past Ansel quickly, his considerable bulk filling the entrance before disappearing into the area beyond. Ansel stepped through after him, glancing back once more into the dim cavern of rusted shelves and molded crates. The smell was what bothered him most. It reminded him of a cage, a lingering stench of decayed air and disuse.

The pavilion was dazzling, the glaring florescent lighting turning the converted space into artificial day. The change in lighting played dizzyingly across his eyes as he blinked quickly to regain his vision, and Ansel stopped to scan the room.

The space was square, and separated by a chalky white line painted along the middle of the floor. The side Ansel now stood on was flanked by a long, narrow pair of workbenches, all manner of metal parts, mechanic's tools, lengths of wiring, electronics, and Dust containers strewn haphazardly along their burnished metal surfaces. Oversized hologram displays and worktables stood between the benches, displays dark and transparent. The prototype stood on the other side of the pavilion, lengths of shadow outlining its form in sharp contrast to the splashes of fluorescent white light.

The blueprints he had studied were nothing compared to the actual machine. The Paladin-290 Mechanized Battle Suit was _massive_, so tall that Ansel's head did not even reach the bottom of the upper torso unit, beginning three feet above his head. A thickset, armored cockpit stood supported by a pair of widely spaced, inverted legs attached to a lower pivot mount beneath the cockpit. Gunmetal grey, Isern-composite plates of reactive armor covered the mech from head to foot, giving it the survivability of a walking bunker without sacrificing too much maneuverability.

What drew Ansel's eyes, however, were the missing pieces; the cracks in the armor. Sections of plate lay stacked at the foot of the Paladin, with bundles of electric cables snaking from the gaps of steel missing from the cockpit, and leading to the inactive holo-displays. The arms were missing their guns, their hands, and most of circuits, no more than hollow metal frames below the shoulder joints.

An incomplete weapon, but one with excessive potential nonetheless._ "Is it the intention of the beast that makes it dangerous? Its design, its purpose?"_ Ansel pondered, eyes glancing on the white gear-and-spear of Atlas etched into the Paladin's side.

He felt a wry twitch pull at the corner of his mouth. _"Dangerous question, that is, Ansel. Almost sounds like a personal reflection."_

"Set the explosives," he said, striding towards the largest holo-display, thick sheaves of electronic cable leading from its base to the open service hatch of the cockpit. Ansel skimmed the transparent screen with a finger, and the display glowed to life with a flurry of scrolling symbols and numbers. He began to type quickly, accessing the file directory and research notes on the prototype.

Géant swung the pack from his shoulders and knelt next to a gigantic clawed foot, pulling out dark grey bricks of molded plastique explosive to lie on the floor. He positioned them in a short row, checking the small cylindrical detonator shoved into the side of each bomb.

Ansel finished collecting the host of research data with a final rap of his finger, the information now condensed into a single, dense packet. Ansel re-checked the size of the collected files against the packet, making sure he had missed nothing. Satisfied, he spoke a low command into the speaker of his helmet, "Download."

The display cleared abruptly, and a hollow bar appeared in the center of the screen, another bar mirrored in the corner of his HUD. The bar filled quickly with a soft hum from his helmet, and a whispered _beep_ signaled the end of the download.

Ansel looked up, watching as Géant placed one of the explosives against the bottom of the Paladin's lower pivot joint. He allowed himself a rare, small smile.

The mission was going exceedingly smoothly, and both men were ahead of schedule. The information stored in Ansel's helmet marked over six years of intensive research and development, along with a few more practical bits of Atlesian coding.

Ansel stepped around the display and crouched behind the wide base of the hologram casing. The access hatch already hung open to admit the bundles of cable, and he reached in, probing amongst the circuits and wiring for the central memory core.

His fingers finally brushed the cylindrical core, and he grasped it with a firm grip. Ansel began to pull, the thin support joints groaning with strain as he wrenched at the core.

The _rip_ of separating Velcro caused Ansel to jerk upward so hard as to make the back of his helmet _clack_ against his collar plate, his heart hammering triple-time in a matter of moments. His sudden movement caused him to loose his grip on the memory core, and he let out a muffled curse as he fell backwards onto his side. He landed sideways, facing the entrance to the pavilion as the flap snapped opened with a hard tug.

The Atlesian MP was of average height and burly, thick limbs filling out the grey and blue multicam of his uniform like wind in a sail. A heavy black combat vest strained across his torso, and a dark blue field cap sat perched atop a broad head. A large holster hung strapped against his right thigh, the shaded polymer grip of a pistol clearly visible.

The guard did not see Ansel immediately, his attention focused on lighting the thin cigarette clutched between his teeth with a small lighter. The flickers of his lighter showed him to be young, no older than his mid twenties, fleshy cheeks clean-shaven with a thin chevron moustache covering his upper lip. A pair of dense, bushy eyebrows topped wide-set brown eyes, and a small mole adorned the corner of his left cheek.

He had taken four full steps into the atrium before he finally registered the two black-armored men who had seemingly appeared from thin air into his favorite smoking spot. His eyes snapped wide, the cigarette falling from surprise-slackened lips to sputter out on the cold floor. It was almost comical.

No one moved, the soft hum of the air system the only source of sound. Ansel tensed, his eyes locked on the guard, just as the guard stared at him. Both were waiting for the other

Ansel moved first. He rolled sideways, putting his legs back underneath himself while reaching for his gun. An older man might have been slow enough for Ansel to beat, but the younger man was too quick. His hand bolted for his holster like a snake, bringing the gun to aim on Ansel before he could reach his own.

"_Freeze!"_

Ansel stayed his hand, knowing he was too late. He moved his hand away from his gun, raising both hands above his head slowly.

Ansel cursed under his breath, caught in the horrible luck of it all. He was sidelong to the guard, his pistol on the hip facing the man. There was no chance he would be able to draw it fast enough to shoot first.

The guard's eyes darted back and forth between Ansel and Géant, moving backwards to keep both men in his vision. He pointed it at Géant, still crouched below the Paladin, a single brick of explosive still lying beside the Paladin's foot.

"You! Stand up. Don't do anything stupid."

The young man's voice was edgy, telling both intruders that he was nervous enough to act rashly. Géant, keeping both hands in view, backed away from the mechanical behemoth and rose to his full height, back to the guard.

"Turn around. Slowly!" he snapped. His Adam's apple bobbed nervously as he swallowed, but he kept sweeping the pistol between the two men.

Ansel's mind was racing, thoughts and plans blurring together as he tried to find some way of dealing with the young guard, quietly and without getting shot. There has to be something…

He stopped thinking as his eyes caught a faint movement from Géant, the big man's finger twitching faintly. His eyes traveled down, and he saw something dart around Géant's legs…a faint wisp of…

"Hey! I'm talking to you two!" the guard barked, "Both of you get on you on your knees. Now!" The guard reached up to fumble with the radio attached to the side of his vest.

Ansel tilted his head back slightly, body tensed for what was about to happen. He met the guard's gaze, and spoke evenly:

"I think not, my friend."

Géant vanished, his body flashing briefly before disappearing into a cloud of thick, black smoke. Where Géant had been now stood the large outline of a man, a mass of creeping tendrils of dark fog that drifted off the form and outward along the floor like water.

The guard's mouth dropped, his eyes wide with shock as one of the two trespassers he had discovered suddenly evaporated before his eyes. He stared dumbly at the shade standing before him. The gun lowered slightly in his hands. "What the he…"

It happened so quickly that Ansel almost missed the first movement. The dark shape darted forward like a whip, striking the guard in the center of his chest and continuing around him like a swift wind. The young man was knocked off balance as the smoke struck him, the pistol flying from his hand and clattering out of reach behind a nearby bench.

The spectral form stopped directly behind the guard, and Géant solidified back into shape, the great one-handed war axe in his hand flashing under the unforgiving, flaming lights. The guard was still off balance, arms wind milling to keep himself upright, unable to do more than stare upward with a look of sudden, inescapable terror.

It fell like a bolt of gleaming lightning, the huge man's strength bringing the axe downward in a great, overhead slash.

The blade struck deep along his left clavicle, cleaving downward through bone and flesh with a wet _krunch_! The force of the strike sent the guard staggering to his knees, a bright jet of murky blood spurting from the wound to splatter along the faded concrete. The guard opened his mouth to scream, but the only sound he could manage was a ragged, wet gasp.

A brief moment of stillness fell as both Géant and the guard remained locked

Géant raised his boot, and placed it against the dying man's chest. Slowly, almost lazily, he pushed the guard off the head of his axe, the weapon coming free with a slight tug. The guard slumped backwards, collapsing limply into an expanding pool of his own blood.

The entire ordeal had taken no more than seven seconds, but Ansel had been fast enough to have his pistol out in two. He stepped forward to stare down at the broken man, his eyes studying the gaping tear across the man's chest.

"_Clavicle's sheered in half…three ribs too,"_ he observed, _"Probably nicked his lung. Won't last much longer, I think."_

"Géant, finish with the explosives. I want to get out of here before this one is noticed missing." His eyes never wavered from the man lying on the floor, the guard's hands attempting to cover the gaping wound.

Returning the axe to its harness, Géant turned to finish prepping the bomb. He knew better then to try and dissuade his superior when he was in one of his moods. Géant liked his head where it was.

Ansel slid his pistol back into its holster, and noticed the guard's pack of cigarettes lying a few feet away, tossed away in the excitement. He scooped them up, inspecting the package.

"_Atlas Alphas…good brand."_ He remembered smoking these back in his Marine days. It was a constant joke in his unit on what would kill them first, the cigarettes or the Faunus. It wasn't as funny now, considering most of those men were long since buried.

He crouched down next to the guard, holding the pack in front of the wounded man's face.

"You mind?"

His breath came out in quick, bubbling spurts, and his hands spasmed where they lay on his chest. The man's eyelids fluttered weakly, but his eyes followed Ansel as he moved.

_Definitely nicked a lung. Shock is only starting to set in. _"I thought not."

Flicking the top of the packet open, Ansel extracted a cigarette. He rolled the stick of tobacco between his fingers, mind awash with memories of an era now long past, days marked by fire and blood.

"There was once a time I could not have gone an hour without one of these. Would have traded a week's pay for a pack, and never thought twice about it. I remember the withdrawal, too. Made me less focused, slower; more likely to make mistakes."

Ansel reached up and undid the locks on the back of his helmet, snapping the metal restraints open with thumb and forefinger. He removed the helmet with a slow tug, enjoying the feeling of cold air on his face.

A brief flicker of what Ansel took as shock passed over the guard's pained face before he launched into a fit of coughing, bits of blood spraying from his mouth with each rattling gasp. Not the usual reaction he garnered, but close enough.

Ansel ran a hand across the side of his face, another habit he had picked up during Marine days, though it felt as fresh as always. He set the helmet down before continuing, fingers resting against the smooth, black metal.

"A painful lesson, but a necessary one. It left its mark on me, and I was forged anew, a man no longer." He lifted the cigarette, twirling it between the metal joints of his gloves. "I became an instrument. A _weapon_. Much like this metal behemoth here." He said, gesturing at the Paladin standing tall above them.

He stared down again, with eyes as cold as glacial steel. "Purpose is the ultimate of life's joys; to act upon our most intrinsic abilities. Me? I found that I was quite good at hunting things, _beasts_ in particular."

Ansel reached forward, gently placing a hand on the broken man's shoulder. He flinched slightly, but the pain kept him from moving away. "Your death, while potentially needless, shall serve a purpose. Find comfort in that."

The guard's arm lifted, shaking with the exertion, and clawed weakly at the shirt pocket of his camouflaged uniform, trying vainly to release the simple clasp. Ansel reached over, and pushed the man's hand away. He popped the button free and reached inside, a flimsy square falling free to land partly in the pool of blood.

"_A photograph…"_ Ansel saw, picking it up. The blood had obscured the upper corner of the photo, but the woman it depicted was unmarked and young; brown hair framing a sweet face with an attractive smile, large green eyes alive with mirth at some long-lost jest. _Young, attractive, happy. Wife, perhaps? _

The man tried to grab the picture, but Ansel held it out of his reach, and his arm flailed at empty air before crumpling at his side with a hollow wheeze. Ansel slid the end of the cigarette in his mouth, and lit with a deft flick of the lighter. He took a long pull, savoring the vivid flavor, and exhaled a lingering cloud of smoke.

"She's quite beautiful," He smirked. "You were quite the lucky man."

The man's eyes were half-lidded now, shock and blood loss sapping at his weakened consciousness, his mind floating in and out of awareness as his body shook is spasms of numbing pain.

Another young man, dead by the hands of circumstance and damned by whatever fates that dared to call themselves gods. Ansel would have felt shame and pity once, he knew.

But no longer. _He_ was the predator now; the young man simply another of _his_ prey.

Ansel drew in another lungful of smoke, the nicotine enhancing the sensations of power and control. He crushed the bud into his palm, and dropped it inside one of the pouches along his belt. "_No point making it easy for the authorities, right?"_

His hand traveled down the length of the young man's leg, his fingers resting around the handle of the combat knife in the guard's boot. Ansel's eyes never strayed from the dying man's face; his eyes alight with a primal fire.

"A shame that your wife should suffer like this," Ansel said. "But she's still young. She'll find another man to love."

The words took a moment to force their way past the fog surrounding the man's mind, but his eyes cleared briefly, fear and horror giving him a last moment of clarity as he tried to utter some final word.

Mercifully, Ansel was quick.

With a deceptively graceful gesture, he pulled the blade free of its sheath and lifted the guard's head in the same motion, shoving the knife through the bottom of the man's skull and into the base of his skull. His eyes shot open as the weakened neurons registered the extreme, blinding pain of the knife eviscerating his brain stem and cerebellum, blood erupting from the entry wound like a punctured bladder. His body spasmed once, twice, and moved no more.

Ansel slid the blade out from underneath the guard's chin, the edge of the blade releasing with a soft sucking sound. He lifted the blade, staring long at the wisps of gore spotted along the dark metal, glistening like dull stars in the void.

"_And he said, "Let them lead afore death; destroyer of worlds."_ Ansel remembered, words of warriors from time long past, held true by those that followed in their stead.

He felt a hand clasp his shoulder gently. "We are ready to go, _Captane_," Géant murmured.

Ansel remained crouched, lost in his own thoughts. He bent forward, and placed the bloody knife on the dead man's chest, dark red stains against the uniform's speckled grey and blue.

He stood languidly, the smell of blood thick in his nostrils, his helmet dangling from his other hand.

His expression was iron, but his eyes blazed with a fervor that saw far beyond the reaches of those concrete and steel walls. "Can you feel it, my friend?"

Géant shook his head thoughtfully, unsure what to say.

"Change, Géant. Violent, _absolute_ change."

* * *

The IRC stood amidst the storm, the mingling cracks and streaks of thunder and lightning weaving through the sky like brief notes of nature's chorus, the building uncaring of the raving turmoil that flew above it, impassive as the piercing peaks surrounding it.

The initial blast was quick, a brief flicker of bright white light before the high windows along the IRC's walls exploded in a blinding flurry of pulverized glass. The great roar overrode the elements of nature for a scant moment, bouncing off the valley walls in ear-splitting waves as a wall of pure energy and fire ripped through shelving and equipment around the Paladin housing area. The heat destroyed whatever the explosion did not, flames consuming wooden crates and plastic coverings like new-age firewood.

Alarms blared like wounded shrieks of pain, and a low moan rumbled from the damaged structure. With the sound of wrenching metal and crumbling rock, the center of the IRC's roof collapsed inward with a ground shaking _crunch_, burying the already eviscerated Paladin frame beneath tons of shattered debris. Smoke and rain mixed in a translucent veil as the fading boom of destruction echoed deep into the violent, starless night. The strike team was long gone before the first detonation.

_**A/N**_**:**

**Well...Shit. **

**This is a little bit awkward, I'll admit. Not for you guys, obviously, but for me. It's been awhile since I posted the exposition of this story...hell, its been over a year and a half. How do I justify taking so long to write what equivocates to about _thirty pages?_ **

**School? Family? Work? The impossible pursuit of perfection? The inevitable onset of inherent relativity that will make me less aware of the passing of time to the point that years feel more of months, then days, then hours? I'm not really sure, nor will I particularly trouble myself with it.**

**For God's sake, I'm just some two-bit hack who's writing stories on the internet. I can allow myself an amount of personal humility. ****Anyway, there were a few things I did wish to note in my brief expose to you all who were bored or insane enough to get to the bottom of this page.**

**Again, I would like to thank the crazy fools who have decided to read my story, as you are a large reason for which I like write, mainly because I like it when people tell me I'm good at things...keeps me from going to the gym or getting laid to improve my fragile psyche. However, I am a big boy, and I can handle and appreciate criticism that would do well to improve my writing ability, so please feel entitled to saying whatever you wish, I listen to it all.**

**Secondly, I am taking it upon myself to stop being such a schlub, and try to write more than I do as of now. I feel that I do not give enough credence to just how much writing helps me in regards to my life, and I feel you people deserve better than this, even though very few of you will probably read my work. We're all here for the beauty of literature, right? If I make one person happy, that's enough for me.**

**Also, I would also like to take a quick moment to say something that I never really got to discuss with anyone, particularly because it actually had a notable impact on me, and many others besides me. I rarely find myself genuinely sad at events that are not part of my _life bubble, _as I have learned that life just happens to be equal parts love, suffering, and unpredictability. You deal with it as it comes.**

**That being said, I am truly sad that the world lost an amazing man; I am sad that a family lost a son, a wife lost a husband, and that the good people of Rooster Teeth lost a great friend. Rare is the instance in time that someone as talented and genuinely passionate about making the world a better place, in whatever way they can, passes on when we say they should. It's just always too soon. So I say, I wish Monty Oum the best, in whatever life, existence, or otherwise he happens to be in now. You, sir, have earned it. Sorry I was so late in saying so out loud.**

**...Alright, enough of my somber bullshit. You guys came here to be entertained, not emotionally challenged. I actually have the first chapter written, and I will have it uploaded sometime this weekend after I revise it a wee bit. **

**You guys get to meet my main characters, you get to learn a little about the world, and I actually write something resembling RWBY. **

**Are you excited?! Cause I'm freakin' stoked, baby!**

**This is Melaro16, and I'm wishing everyone a good life. **

**Signing off.**


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